Take a Hint
by Ford.Ye.Fiji
Summary: Imelda learned an important lesson in her life, and even in her death... And beyond her death. If you want something done, do it yourself. Especially when it concerns thickheaded músicos! Three times Imelda followed this rule.


**A/N: All of my Spanish comes from my meager and ongoing Spanish lessons, my mother's own very old Spanish lessons, and Google translate. So, pls, I'm sorry for any mistakes!**

Honestly, the man was _estupido_ , she knew he'd been attempting to cultivate a friendship for literal ages and, most recently, a courtship. Did he think she didn't know? As if his suddenly awkward conversations and flirtatious quips weren't obvious enough, certainly the waggling of his eyebrows and his huge friend's overeager nudges whenever she reacted with a smile would have clued her in. _Dios!_ What a bunch of _tontos locos!_

Really, the absolute worst thing about this whole situation was that she found herself returning his shy advances. Imelda was the most stubborn woman in all of Santa Cecilia. Men talked of her cold unapproachable frown and dark stony eyes. Ladies at the market tittered about her brittle barbs shot at all the _hombres lindos_ and the countless suitors that had found themselves thrown out on their backsides after making their unwanted attentions known.

So what made this crazy, _maravilloso_ , _exasperante_ man so- so different? Imelda didn't know. Perhaps because he was so sweet and tender in those soft in-between moments as he leapt from one place to the next. Maybe it was the way he seemed to be brighter whenever those he was around were happier. Maybe it was because, just like her, people talked about him behind his back. (They always called him _loco_ , laughing at his energetic twirls, and starry-eyed dreaming, and the way he endlessly talked about music. It was his _amor verdadero_ , they said.) Perhaps it was the _niños pequeños,_ and how they always shrieked with delight, lighting up like _luciérnagas_ when they saw Héctor Rivera striding down the packed dirt street.

So what could be her problem then? Héctor Rivera was clearly, stupidly, besotted and his best friend Ernesto De La Cruz took every opportunity to leave them alone together. Well, the problem was that Héctor was rather slow on the uptake. _Idiota!_ She'd tried everything, the hand on his arm, the lingering after the festivals, the soft smile. She was practically shouting her interest from the rooftops.

Apparently, it was up to her to do everything.

Héctor finished his soft song and grinned boyishly at her, dark hair falling into his face as his fingers stilled on the strings. Imelda smiled, she'd been finding herself doing more of that lately, " _Muy bien._ " She sat up and looked around, the sky clear and bright, "Where is Ernesto?"

Héctor shrugged with a sort of fond exasperation and leaned back against the old tree, "He wanders off now and then."

Imelda rolled her eyes and tossed her hair. She sat up. No one was in sight... It was time for her to do something.

"Héctor?"

He turned those soft brown eyes towards her, " _Sí,_ Ime-?" He never got to finish his sentence. Imelda pushed forward, eyes shut tight as she clutched at his vest and pulled his lips to hers.

She could feel his startled flailing, but he didn't turn away. In fact, after a few seconds, his hands came to rest gently on the sides of her face and he relaxed into it.

All too soon, she pulled away, eyes opening slowly. Héctor blinked dazedly, a bright red tinge spreading across his cheeks, " _Muy Bueno de verdad..._ Are you sure you're feeling alright, _mi amor?_ "

Imelda, miraculously, laughed. Héctor seemed just as astonished as her at her openness and soft adoration.

She took his long fingers with both hands, feeling just as flushed as him, "For the first time, _mi querido_ , I think that I am better than alright."

A few weeks later, intimidating Imelda and silly Héctor were married. Most brides would have cried on their wedding day. Imelda Rivera however, smiled so hard her cheeks hurt, and never shed a tear.

* * *

Imelda threw the crumpled paper ball at the battered door, " _¡Odioso bruto! ¡Inútil músicos!_ " She raged, fists clenched so tightly that she left bloody crescents in her palms.

" _¿Mamá? ¿Mamá donde es papa?_ "

Imelda turned. Face whitening at the sight of her frightened, trembling, joven chiquita. Little Cocó shed the tears that her mother could not, " _¿Donde es papi? ¿Donde?_ "

Where is papa? Where?

Imelda broke, taking Cocó into her arms, "Oh no, _conejito_ , oh no. Don't cry. _Lo siento. Lo siento mamá._ It's alright."

Cocó sobbed into her dress, " _¡Quiero mi papi! ¡Mamá!_ "

Imelda couldn't bring herself to cry. Imelda was not a crying woman and she never would be, little Cocó was however. While she sobbed, still crying for her no good papa, Imelda found herself growing angrier and angrier. How dare he abandon them? Imelda had been reluctant to let him go across the country with Ernesto but that- that _tonto_ had gone anyway! He'd promised he'd come back ( _soon, mi amor, soon. I promesa_ ) and just till recently she'd been receiving more and more money in the mail from him.

Then suddenly, it had stopped. His letters, his money, everything. Then Ernesto had sent that _asqueroso_ letter. He said Héctor had run off, taken most of the profits from their last show and that he was sleeping his way across _Méjico_. Imelda almost hadn't believed it, but six months had gone by with no word. Besides, Ernesto De La Cruz was Héctor's _mejor amiga._ Since childhood and through all the horrors of the revolution. He would never lie about something as awful as that.

Imelda held Cocó tighter. She did not need that _cabrón_. Any man who abandoned his _familia_ was no man at all.

" _Lo siento,_ Cocó. We do not need him and his _música_. We will be just fine without him." She glared at Ernesto's crumpled letter.

"We don't need _música_ , Cocó. We don't need it at all."

* * *

Héctor smiled sheepishly, his worn straw hat in his hands, " _Gracias_ , Imelda. You did not have to do that."

Imelda Rivera frowned darkly at him. Her husband, or whatever he was now, gulped. It had been nearly nine months since the fateful _Día de los Muertos_ that had changed everything from the past fifty years. Imelda was a stubborn woman, just like her mamá before her. But she wasn't that bullheaded! Surely, Héctor knew this. After all, he'd been living with them for nearly eight of those months.

The _familia_ had been quick to forgive him- after all, most of them had not actually known him in his life. And as they got to know her husband, music had slowly but surely creeped back into the somber Rivera household. Victoria hummed everywhere, Julio sang in the garden, Óscar and Felipe belted out semi-appropriate tunes while working on their shoes, and Rosita liked to pull random family members into a dance when she got excited. Héctor's lively nature and exuberance at being back again with his beloved _familia_ was intoxicating.

Imelda had hated to admit it in those early months, but Héctor and his _música_ had breathed such joy into her household that everything seemed so much brighter. He had loved her for a long time, eagerly awaiting her arrival, only to be spurned by her when she did come. Imelda winced as she remembered the violence of her rejection when Héctor had shown up on her doorstop. That Ernesto De La Cruz could _púdrete en el infierno!_

Still, it had taken her some time to work past the wall of hatred that she had built up for almost a century. Of course, eight months was more than enough time, Héctor had left but he'd died trying to come to her, to Cocó, to his _familia_. Again she scowled, Ernesto De La Cruz that _asesino_. He'd stolen her husband's life and then tried to destroy his afterlife. She could feel herself getting angrier and tried to think of something else. Right. Héctor was still watching her carefully, as if he was trying to calm a caged _caballo_.

Eight months. Eight months since her not-really-awful husband had been returned to her. That and the last fifty years or more of separation made her ache with a longing deep in her bones. And considering that she consisted solely of bones, made that ache just to be near him all the more _sentido_.

Imelda held out her arm imperiously, "Walk with me, Héctor."

He swallowed and took her arm, " _Sí,_ Imelda."

He looked back at the alley behind them. An angry fan of Ernesto had accosted him rather violently a few streets back. The skeleton did not know what hit him when Imelda had attacked him with her shoe. _Dios_ , Imelda was _magnífico_.

It only took a few more blocks before Imelda huffed and spoke out loud what was bothering her. Héctor had suspected something was very wrong when, after she'd finished viscously whacking the skeleton back there, had hurtled insult after insult at the retreating man. Still, he had not suspected her to turn, poke him roughly in the shoulder and say, "Well, Héctor, are you going to kiss me or not? _He esperado lo suficiente._ "

He blinked, slack-jawed for a moment before he asked slowly and anxiously, "Are you feeling well, mi amor?"

Imelda rolled her eyes heavenward and then grabbed his hand, "Héctor, you know that you are still my husband and a part of my- _our_ _familia_. You know that right?"

He seemed pained, "Imelda..."

" _¡Dios!_ If you want something done do it yourself!" She briefly pressed her not quite lips to his, " _Te amo_ , you silly fool."

Héctor's eyes lit up and touched his mouth in awe. He realized his silence had stretched on to long and he sputtered sheepishly, " _Y yo te, Imelda... Te amo!_ "

She snorted and marched away, pulling him behind her, "Now that we've gotten that out of the way, we can finally get on with our lives." She grumbled affectionately, " _Idiota._ "

Héctor grinned like a lovesick husband for the rest of the day. (And maybe, just maybe Imelda... Cold, stubborn, Imelda... The Imelda who never cried, who never let herself care- and even when she had, had not even let herself mourn... Imelda finally let herself cry when she saw him with their little Cocó. All three of them together again after so long.)

That very same night, to the utter delight of everyone in that small Rivera household, Imelda danced to loud happy _música_ with her Héctor for the first time in a century.


End file.
